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And nervous have I been about posting this thing, God knows why...but here it is.
Title: We Regret To Inform You
Rating: G
Fandom: Avengers movieverse
Summary: The story of a life, in three letters of condolence to three different women.
Notes: There really was a 107th New York Infantry, mobilized in 1917. They were sent off to train in South Carolina on September 11, 1917, and sailed for France in May of 1918. They saw heavy combat, including the Second Battle of the Somme in September and October, and suffered heavy casualties. And yes, several of the men were named "Rogers," although I have been unable to determine if any of them had the first name Joseph.
18 OCTOBER 1918
TO: MRS. J. ROGERS, MANHATTAN, NEW YORK, UNITED STATES
WE REGRET TO INFORM YOU OF THE DEATH OF CORP. JOSEPH ANDREWS OF L COMPANY THIS DATE STOP HE WAS GASSED THREE WEEKS AGO AND SUCCUMBED TO HIS INJURIES STOP HE WAS A GALLANT SOLDIER AND DIED IN PERFORMANCE OF HIS DUTY STOP DEEPEST CONDOLENCES STOP
CHARLES I. DEBOISVE
GENERAL
107th INFANTRY
There are times I hate my job.
Normally it's fine enough, delivering telegrams. Oh, we get some bad news, sure, but just as often it's good - a new baby, a new job, a wedding, that sort of thing. But ever since the boys sailed for France it's just as likely to be the worst news a family can get. I can't tell you how many old mothers I've seen crying for their sons, or how many pretty young wives turn gray when they see me walk up the steps. I'm not sorry we're over there fighting against the Huns, but war is a cruel, cruel thing no matter whether it's just or not.
It's worse when you know them, the one who's died and the one who's left. I can't say that I'm good friends with Joe and Sarah, but I know them well enough to talk on the street. He's - he was - such a good man, always ready with a smile and a helping hand, laughing that big laugh of his down at the saloon. There wasn't a better liked man in this part of town.
And Sarah! Poor Sarah! She's never been strong but that hasn't kept her from visiting the sick and checking on the kiddies ever since she finished her training. Best public health nurse in New York, I say, and I've seen more than my share over the years. She could have had any man she wanted, but she's never had eyes for anyone but her Joe, ever since they came over on the same boat.
She wasn't happy when he enlisted - no woman's happy to see her man go off to fight - but she was proud of him, you could tell, scared as she was. Even managed to get a job down in South Carolina as a nurse when the 107th left last September so she could be with him. Of course they wanted to send her home when they found out about her being in a delicate condition, but she managed to stay long enough to see him off at Newport News in May. There was a picture of them in the Daily News, her clinging to him until the last possible minute while the rest of his company marched up the gangplank.
It's like she knew.
I'd feel easier if she hadn't had such a rough time back in July - leave it to Sarah to keep working when a sensible woman would have stayed home! Mrs. McPherson next door said Sarah told her that she had to get out of her rooms or she'd go mad, but she could have done that without delivering other women's kids when her own was coming any day. And then she tripped going down the stairs on the Fourth, and, well, let's just say she was lucky to come through with a whole skin and a living baby.
Not that her little Stevie is all that strong himself. He's pretty enough if you like 'em delicate, with Sarah's yellow hair and big blue eyes, but the poor little mite coughs all the time even though the doctors say they can't find anything wrong. Mrs. McPherson thinks it's because he was almost a month early, and I'm not going to say she's wrong. I'm just the Western Union man.
It's quiet tonight, and thank God for it. There's nothing worse than walking up the front steps of a tenement with everyone outside to see you on your way with bad news. I hope Mrs. McPherson's up. Sarah cried like her heart was breaking when word came that Joe had been wounded breaking the Hindenburg line, and this will be ten times as bad.
Holy Mother, sometimes I hate my job.
Dear Mrs. Barnes,
I regret to inform you of the death of your son, James, this morning during a routine mission. Hefell died because I couldn't get there in the performance of his duty and it's all my -
Rogers was exactly where Colonel Phillips thought he'd be, sitting with his head in his hands at the barren little table in what passed for an officers' mess, crumpled paper on the floor, a sheet of stationery and a fountain pen in front of him. There was a smear of dried blood on his left hand from a HYDRA gun, but no wound beyond a faint pink scar. Even that would be gone tomorrow thanks to whatever Erskine had pumped into him three years ago.
Hurrah for super-soldiers.
"Rogers."
"Sir." He straightened automatically and started to rise. Phillips shook his head and gestured for him to stay seated. Discipline was one thing, but it would never feel quite right to look up at someone who'd barely come to his chin in Basic.
"We have an early briefing tomorrow. You should be in bed."
"I know, sir." The broad shoulders sagged for an instant. "I just - I wanted to write this letter before I turned in. It's to Bucky - Sergeant Barnes' mother. She should know what happened."
"Very commendable, Captain," said Phillips. He settled himself in the nearest empty chair. "You know that official word will come from me, of course."
"Of course, sir." Rogers hadn't bothered to change out of that ridiculous red white and blue thing he wore into battle. Phillips had always thought that pretty white star made a perfect target and had said so, but Rogers had insisted that making his USO character real would be good for morale back home and the brass had agreed. Stark had assured them all that the cloth would stop a bayonet and slow down a bullet, but all his fancy science hadn't kept Rogers from earning those two Purple Hearts last year. "I was his immediate superior. With respect, sir, it's my job."
"That it is, and I'm glad you remembered it," said Phillips. Rogers had the slightly hollow eyed look he always got if he hadn't eaten enough. Too bad there'd only been one steak. "It's not as if this is the first loss in this command."
Rogers drew in a breath and looked past Phillips at the wall. "No. It's not."
Of course it was the first from his hand-picked team, but there was no need to say so. Not when everyone in the SSR knew that the war had just gotten personal for their field commander.
"Sir?"
Phillips did his best to ignore the faint pleading note in the word. "Yes, Rogers?"
"This - " He made a sweeping gesture at the paper, the pen, the table. "It's not easy."
"No, it's not." Phillips shoved back his chair and walked to the mess table. "If it ever is, that's the day you resign your commission and go home. We don't need officers who think writing condolence letters is easy in the United States Army."
Rogers swallowed. "I never thought that, sir."
"Good for you." Phillips clapped him on the back. The muscles were like steel cables under his hand. "Finish that up and go to bed, Rogers. That's an order. Zola sang like a bird and I need you fresh tomorrow."
"Understood, sir." Rogers nodded. He chewed his lower lip, then met Phillips' eyes for the first time. "Thank you."
"Don't thank me until the job's done." Phillips sketched a salute and headed for the door. "Good night, Captain."
"Good night, Colonel."
Sr. Scholastica McPherson
Principal
Convent of Our Lady of Sorrows
Brooklyn, New York
April 20, 1945
Dear Sister McPherson:
It is with deep regret that I must inform you that your former student, Captain Steven G. Rogers, USA, went missing during a combat operation on the 18th of this month and is presumed deceased. He was an exceptional soldier and leader of men, and I know I speak for everyone in his unit when I say that his loss diminishes us all.
Captain Rogers designated your institution as the beneficiary of his life insurance, in hopes that another orphan might benefit from the same care and education that he received during his years under your supervision. The appropriate authorities will contact you shortly with the details.
My deepest sympathies.
Sincerely,
Chester Phillips
Colonel
Strategic Scientific Reserve
Sister Scholastica rubbed her forehead and set the letter aside. She'd seen many orphans come and go through her years as Principal, but Steven had had a special place in her heart from first day he'd arrived from Hell's Kitchen clinging to her sister-in-law's hand and taking it all in with eyes that were older than his age. He'd proved far more intelligent than he had any right to be, and such a talented artist – what a shame he was so sickly! It was only by the grace of God that he'd learned to swim instead of sinking straight to the bottom of the pool, and if the damp hadn't been bad for his lungs she thought the exercise would have done him a world of good.
She'd never quite believed that the Army would accept Steven, even for a stateside posting. Then she'd gotten a letter from Camp Lehigh telling her that he was in Basic, and six months later a messenger from the USO delivered an autographed glossy photograph of a strapping young man in a patriotic costume who looked as much like little Steven as he looked like Jack Dempsey. Only his eyes had been the same, clear and blue and fearless, and after the shock wore off she'd put him on her prayer list alongside all her other boys - and some girls - who'd gone off to serve their country.
Then more letters had come, first from Europe, then from London. He hadn't been able to tell her much about his work but she could read between the lines. There was a special girl, and good friends, and she was happy to see that he'd found his place in the world at last.
And now he was gone.
Her fingers closed about her worn rosary. Of all the ones to lose -
A tap at the door roused her from grief. "Sister Scholastica? Are you all right?"
"We've lost another of our own, Sister Polycarp." Sister Scholastic held out the letter. "You may not remember him, but he was the sweetest boy."
Sister Polycarp frowned slightly as she read. "Steven Rogers? Was he the little one with asthma? I do remember him, but not well."
"Yes." Sister Scholastica folded her hands in front of her. "I believe he grew a bit after he left us."
"Oh," murmured Sister Polycarp, frowning as she finally remembered. She'd assisted the infirmarian during her novitiate and of course would have nursed Steven through those awful dust storms ten years ago. "These letters never say enough, do they? I wonder what happened."
"So do I," said Sister Scholastica. Wax was hard to come by these days, but surely they could spare a candle for her boy, curfew or no? "So do I."
Title: We Regret To Inform You
Rating: G
Fandom: Avengers movieverse
Summary: The story of a life, in three letters of condolence to three different women.
Notes: There really was a 107th New York Infantry, mobilized in 1917. They were sent off to train in South Carolina on September 11, 1917, and sailed for France in May of 1918. They saw heavy combat, including the Second Battle of the Somme in September and October, and suffered heavy casualties. And yes, several of the men were named "Rogers," although I have been unable to determine if any of them had the first name Joseph.
18 OCTOBER 1918
TO: MRS. J. ROGERS, MANHATTAN, NEW YORK, UNITED STATES
WE REGRET TO INFORM YOU OF THE DEATH OF CORP. JOSEPH ANDREWS OF L COMPANY THIS DATE STOP HE WAS GASSED THREE WEEKS AGO AND SUCCUMBED TO HIS INJURIES STOP HE WAS A GALLANT SOLDIER AND DIED IN PERFORMANCE OF HIS DUTY STOP DEEPEST CONDOLENCES STOP
CHARLES I. DEBOISVE
GENERAL
107th INFANTRY
There are times I hate my job.
Normally it's fine enough, delivering telegrams. Oh, we get some bad news, sure, but just as often it's good - a new baby, a new job, a wedding, that sort of thing. But ever since the boys sailed for France it's just as likely to be the worst news a family can get. I can't tell you how many old mothers I've seen crying for their sons, or how many pretty young wives turn gray when they see me walk up the steps. I'm not sorry we're over there fighting against the Huns, but war is a cruel, cruel thing no matter whether it's just or not.
It's worse when you know them, the one who's died and the one who's left. I can't say that I'm good friends with Joe and Sarah, but I know them well enough to talk on the street. He's - he was - such a good man, always ready with a smile and a helping hand, laughing that big laugh of his down at the saloon. There wasn't a better liked man in this part of town.
And Sarah! Poor Sarah! She's never been strong but that hasn't kept her from visiting the sick and checking on the kiddies ever since she finished her training. Best public health nurse in New York, I say, and I've seen more than my share over the years. She could have had any man she wanted, but she's never had eyes for anyone but her Joe, ever since they came over on the same boat.
She wasn't happy when he enlisted - no woman's happy to see her man go off to fight - but she was proud of him, you could tell, scared as she was. Even managed to get a job down in South Carolina as a nurse when the 107th left last September so she could be with him. Of course they wanted to send her home when they found out about her being in a delicate condition, but she managed to stay long enough to see him off at Newport News in May. There was a picture of them in the Daily News, her clinging to him until the last possible minute while the rest of his company marched up the gangplank.
It's like she knew.
I'd feel easier if she hadn't had such a rough time back in July - leave it to Sarah to keep working when a sensible woman would have stayed home! Mrs. McPherson next door said Sarah told her that she had to get out of her rooms or she'd go mad, but she could have done that without delivering other women's kids when her own was coming any day. And then she tripped going down the stairs on the Fourth, and, well, let's just say she was lucky to come through with a whole skin and a living baby.
Not that her little Stevie is all that strong himself. He's pretty enough if you like 'em delicate, with Sarah's yellow hair and big blue eyes, but the poor little mite coughs all the time even though the doctors say they can't find anything wrong. Mrs. McPherson thinks it's because he was almost a month early, and I'm not going to say she's wrong. I'm just the Western Union man.
It's quiet tonight, and thank God for it. There's nothing worse than walking up the front steps of a tenement with everyone outside to see you on your way with bad news. I hope Mrs. McPherson's up. Sarah cried like her heart was breaking when word came that Joe had been wounded breaking the Hindenburg line, and this will be ten times as bad.
Holy Mother, sometimes I hate my job.
Dear Mrs. Barnes,
I regret to inform you of the death of your son, James, this morning during a routine mission. He
Rogers was exactly where Colonel Phillips thought he'd be, sitting with his head in his hands at the barren little table in what passed for an officers' mess, crumpled paper on the floor, a sheet of stationery and a fountain pen in front of him. There was a smear of dried blood on his left hand from a HYDRA gun, but no wound beyond a faint pink scar. Even that would be gone tomorrow thanks to whatever Erskine had pumped into him three years ago.
Hurrah for super-soldiers.
"Rogers."
"Sir." He straightened automatically and started to rise. Phillips shook his head and gestured for him to stay seated. Discipline was one thing, but it would never feel quite right to look up at someone who'd barely come to his chin in Basic.
"We have an early briefing tomorrow. You should be in bed."
"I know, sir." The broad shoulders sagged for an instant. "I just - I wanted to write this letter before I turned in. It's to Bucky - Sergeant Barnes' mother. She should know what happened."
"Very commendable, Captain," said Phillips. He settled himself in the nearest empty chair. "You know that official word will come from me, of course."
"Of course, sir." Rogers hadn't bothered to change out of that ridiculous red white and blue thing he wore into battle. Phillips had always thought that pretty white star made a perfect target and had said so, but Rogers had insisted that making his USO character real would be good for morale back home and the brass had agreed. Stark had assured them all that the cloth would stop a bayonet and slow down a bullet, but all his fancy science hadn't kept Rogers from earning those two Purple Hearts last year. "I was his immediate superior. With respect, sir, it's my job."
"That it is, and I'm glad you remembered it," said Phillips. Rogers had the slightly hollow eyed look he always got if he hadn't eaten enough. Too bad there'd only been one steak. "It's not as if this is the first loss in this command."
Rogers drew in a breath and looked past Phillips at the wall. "No. It's not."
Of course it was the first from his hand-picked team, but there was no need to say so. Not when everyone in the SSR knew that the war had just gotten personal for their field commander.
"Sir?"
Phillips did his best to ignore the faint pleading note in the word. "Yes, Rogers?"
"This - " He made a sweeping gesture at the paper, the pen, the table. "It's not easy."
"No, it's not." Phillips shoved back his chair and walked to the mess table. "If it ever is, that's the day you resign your commission and go home. We don't need officers who think writing condolence letters is easy in the United States Army."
Rogers swallowed. "I never thought that, sir."
"Good for you." Phillips clapped him on the back. The muscles were like steel cables under his hand. "Finish that up and go to bed, Rogers. That's an order. Zola sang like a bird and I need you fresh tomorrow."
"Understood, sir." Rogers nodded. He chewed his lower lip, then met Phillips' eyes for the first time. "Thank you."
"Don't thank me until the job's done." Phillips sketched a salute and headed for the door. "Good night, Captain."
"Good night, Colonel."
Sr. Scholastica McPherson
Principal
Convent of Our Lady of Sorrows
Brooklyn, New York
April 20, 1945
Dear Sister McPherson:
It is with deep regret that I must inform you that your former student, Captain Steven G. Rogers, USA, went missing during a combat operation on the 18th of this month and is presumed deceased. He was an exceptional soldier and leader of men, and I know I speak for everyone in his unit when I say that his loss diminishes us all.
Captain Rogers designated your institution as the beneficiary of his life insurance, in hopes that another orphan might benefit from the same care and education that he received during his years under your supervision. The appropriate authorities will contact you shortly with the details.
My deepest sympathies.
Sincerely,
Chester Phillips
Colonel
Strategic Scientific Reserve
Sister Scholastica rubbed her forehead and set the letter aside. She'd seen many orphans come and go through her years as Principal, but Steven had had a special place in her heart from first day he'd arrived from Hell's Kitchen clinging to her sister-in-law's hand and taking it all in with eyes that were older than his age. He'd proved far more intelligent than he had any right to be, and such a talented artist – what a shame he was so sickly! It was only by the grace of God that he'd learned to swim instead of sinking straight to the bottom of the pool, and if the damp hadn't been bad for his lungs she thought the exercise would have done him a world of good.
She'd never quite believed that the Army would accept Steven, even for a stateside posting. Then she'd gotten a letter from Camp Lehigh telling her that he was in Basic, and six months later a messenger from the USO delivered an autographed glossy photograph of a strapping young man in a patriotic costume who looked as much like little Steven as he looked like Jack Dempsey. Only his eyes had been the same, clear and blue and fearless, and after the shock wore off she'd put him on her prayer list alongside all her other boys - and some girls - who'd gone off to serve their country.
Then more letters had come, first from Europe, then from London. He hadn't been able to tell her much about his work but she could read between the lines. There was a special girl, and good friends, and she was happy to see that he'd found his place in the world at last.
And now he was gone.
Her fingers closed about her worn rosary. Of all the ones to lose -
A tap at the door roused her from grief. "Sister Scholastica? Are you all right?"
"We've lost another of our own, Sister Polycarp." Sister Scholastic held out the letter. "You may not remember him, but he was the sweetest boy."
Sister Polycarp frowned slightly as she read. "Steven Rogers? Was he the little one with asthma? I do remember him, but not well."
"Yes." Sister Scholastica folded her hands in front of her. "I believe he grew a bit after he left us."
"Oh," murmured Sister Polycarp, frowning as she finally remembered. She'd assisted the infirmarian during her novitiate and of course would have nursed Steven through those awful dust storms ten years ago. "These letters never say enough, do they? I wonder what happened."
"So do I," said Sister Scholastica. Wax was hard to come by these days, but surely they could spare a candle for her boy, curfew or no? "So do I."
no subject
Date: 2012-07-29 07:06 pm (UTC)From:no subject
Date: 2012-07-29 09:47 pm (UTC)From:no subject
Date: 2012-07-29 10:39 pm (UTC)From:no subject
Date: 2012-07-30 01:53 am (UTC)From:And yes, you MUST see the movie. It's wonderful.
no subject
Date: 2012-07-30 03:11 am (UTC)From:I admired seeing Steve's determination to write the letter to Bucky's mother. He wasn't going to let anything slide no matter how tired he was, how difficult it was for him to express his deepest feelings. I also loved Phillips observation that Steve's eyes were hollow indicating he hadn't eaten enough. Such a good way to tell us that the people around Steve cared about him.
I thought Sister Scholastica was very special too. I liked seeing Steve's scrawny asthmatic body from her memory of him as a child to her difficulty in reconciling that image with the photos of Cap's robust physique. Such a wonderful way of showing how Cap never stopped caring for the people who raised him. Yes, I would go with them to light a candle, too.
Thank you so much for writing and posting this. I love the Cap that you have given us.
no subject
Date: 2012-07-30 03:30 am (UTC)From:I'm currently working on a much longer Avengers fic, set soon after the movie. The tone is much sillier, but it's definitely in this little universe.
Thanks, hon.